Leonid is just and fair, and will work for the good of his house. However, he is a man of results and does not care what it takes to yield these results. Intimidation, deceit, diplomacy, warfare, whatever it takes for him to get him the results he wants. Despite this, he enjoys merriment through alcohol and women, often taking both at the same time.

Leonid is a six foot, two hundred pound man. Despite his status as Highborn, he has seen much labor in his day working for his family, and due to that he is strong. He has dirty blonde hair that flows down to his shoulders, and hazel eyes. His complexion is dark and rugged, such as one would expect from the howling cold to do to a man's skin. In regards to the general person he has an attractive physique and face.

Leonid was born into House Volkov, his father and mother being Alexander and Tanya Volkov. From a young age he was brought up to be a proper son of a Volkov family, to bring pride to the family name and to do whatever he can for the betterment of the family. He was taught many ways to accomplish this, though he was first taught how to do so through word and not blade, which stuck with him most. He spent most of his childhood being manipulative to serfs and similar workers of the Volkov family, often using them for his own gain. In one example, he bluffed to a local serf that his father was hosting a banquet and that he require a bottle of the finest vodka. The serf, not knowing what else to do, did the little Volkov's wish and procured him the finest vodka to offer. This was Leonid's first run in with alcohol, and would hardly be his last. He drank until he passed out, which was only a measly one eighth of the bottle. This is no longer the case, as Leonid's constitution has granted him the ability to drink quite a considerably sum.

Since Leonid's coming of age, he has spent much time working toward the betterment of the family. Primarily through the expansion of the Volkov mines and blacksmithing. Through this, the Volkov have taken their artisan craftsmanship and put it on a larger scale than before, increasing the family's renown and wealth. Leonid has seen much gain through this, primarily through the procurement of fine weapons and armor, unmatched by most.

Most recently however, the current mines of the Volkov family have began to dry up in resources, and surveying has shown that a massive iron deposit lie just north of the Volkov's land. This land is unclaimed, and unclaimed land is decreed to be the Tzar's land, and thus it must be acquired through him. Being the youngest of the Volkov's, is falls upon Leonid's responsibility to take the journey to the court of of the Tzar in order to procure the landed needed to maintain the Volkov smithing operations.

House Volkov is located in the more mountainous regions of the land, and it has been so since the recording of history. The house is one of the oldest in the land, and they posses artisan craftsmen and the serfs to mine the ore they need. In other regards however, the Volkovs have mastered most arts quite well, as they could not solely exist on their craftsmanship alone. Ever so often they have to engage in diplomacy in order to acquire new lands for a new mine, or more lands to support their serf population. Only a few incidents have arisen in which they have needed to arm their serf population with their finely crafted weapons in order to take what they need. These conflicts have always ended in their favor, as their finely crafted weapons and armor give them a large edge over their opponents.

One of their house secrets is their ability to craft weapons out of something that is harder than iron, steel. This sets their weapons to a much higher degree of quality than any other house has been able to forge. (Crucible Steel)

Life on the Arkadian Steppes can be brutal and short for it's nomadic people. They follow herds of deer and antelope, raising yak and horses to supplement their mean. Winters can be harsh and without proper care and planning a tribe may find itself falling to starvation.
Such conditions have bred the Steppes nomads to be strong and tough and it was to these folk that the Great Wolf Mother delivered another mouth to feed, young Yorgi.
His father hunted as many of the men did, his mother skilled at home and hearth, his brothers and sisters growing as he did, always on the move, always in pursuit of game.
Yorgi himself grew strong and skilled but seemed less than content with life in the tribe. He was thrilled when outlanders would come, selling trinkets and wares or attempting to hire the young men of the tribe away as mercenaries and scouts to fight in their wars.
The boy excelled at athletics and games of combat and skill. He had seen seen death enough to know that it came for the foolish, lazy and unlucky. And so he trained with a eye to the horizon and a life beyond that of his people.
The day came in his fifteenth year when he stole off into the night with a skin of mare's milk and a pack stashed with roots and dried meat. He had said his goodbyes, of a sort, but the simple honor of his people dictated the labor of one for the good of all and so he fled.
The intervening years were not what he envisioned entirely, and while there was adventure more often than not he earned coin as a mercenary, bodyguard, or bully boy, the strong arm of corrupt men.
Yorgi says silent prayers to Mother Wolf nightly that he might find an honor and a task worthy of him.

Yorgi stands tall, over six feet, and is broad of chest and dour of demeanor. He stands out clearly as an outlander in more cosmopolitan settings, preferring to wear leather and fur over battered armor, standing as a fierce example of the wild among more civilized folk.
His hair is long and braided, more out of practicality than vanity, and is generally dirty and unkept. His face is weathered by years of wind and sun, giving him a much older look than his years, and he wears a close cropped beard. If one were to look close enough they would find thin scars upon his face, his arms, legs and chest, the results of a hard youth and a violent adulthood.
His grey eyes are hard and peer intently at the world around him, wary and suspicious.

Yorgi set out for the towns and cities of Arkadia full of promise and excitement. The reality has proved much different than his naive imaginings, and he has seen plague, starvation, and desperation among the peasantry and cruelty, pettiness, and covetous behavior among the merchants and nobility.
His simple upbringing has given him a moral center which he clings to, a sense of honor he fears 'civilized man' may corrupt and turn. And so he is resistant to change, resistant to adopting the trappings of towns lest he find himself seduced.
He is religious, in his was, holding great veneration for Mother Wolf and when he makes a vow in her name he considers it binding and sacrosanct.
He is uneducated, and while he has learned the rudimentary forms of written language, he puts far more stock into his instincts and feelings.
Yorgi yearns for purpose, for adventure, and for Mother Wolf to fill him with purpose beyond what's he's experienced thus far.

"I'll be thrice damned and staked to the coldest plain if I can understand why you've been summoned...", the wine merchant cursed through thin lips as he jostled his was through the crowd surrounding the Royal Palace.

He was well appointed, wearing silks imported from the east and fine soft leather boots, his hair was oiled and coifed, and his beard lay draped in three delicate braids. His grooming was careful and sought to distract the eye from a thin, rat-like face, with a nose overly large, eyes small and close set, and a crooked collection of teeth set within his mouth.

Following behind was a tall figure cloaked in dirty furs over scale armor which had once bragged of a rich, black, laquered veneer but rough misuse had now showed chipped and scratched metal scars.

His hair was long and braided, his face hard and weathered. Several delicate scars traced their way across the length of his broad nose, through an eyebrow, vertically cutting into his jawline. His blue grey eyes darted about the crowd under a furrowed brow, aware and alert for danger, and one rough hand rested tensely on the pommel of the short blade at his belt.

He did not answer the merchant's taunts, preferring to remain still and silent.

The merchant, for his part, didn't seem to care. Words and influence were his life and he knew his audience well. "You're one of several I keep close.", he continued, "And though you've got a strong, fierce look about you that's where it ends. A face like yours is more likely to move the Low to fear than the Great to interest, barbarian."

"The servant who delivered the missive said that you had been viewed outside the kitchens when I was negotiating with his Lord's Steward. On guard, as you should have been, and waiting on the call of your betters."

They had approached near enough that the high gilded walls of the Palace threw them into shadow, and before them the Grand Steps climbed upward in marbkle and intimidation.

The merchant stopped and turned to look upward into his companions face with a fretful look.

"The servant talk in the halls is said that the Witch spied you from her perch above. That's a wicked, black eye to have fall upon you, barbarian."

"Heed my words.", the merchant said, casting an eye at the high walls nervously as his voice dropped to just above a whisper.

"Do not speak, unless you're spoken to. You are proud, it is plain to see, but the Halls of the Tsar are no place for pride. Pride might find your head on a spike."

"I do not know why you've been called but it's an asp's nest in which you walk. Tread carefully. I don't expect I'll see you again."

The barbarian did not respond, the narrowing of his eyes the only sign of unease.

He moved up the grand marble steps, taking them two at a time, back straight and eyes forward until he stood before the gilded footmen guarding the tall outer doors.

"Yorgi, of the Steppes.", he stated in a deep, rough, baritone.

Narmoth

Nov 8 '12 12:38am

Vasilij, son of Dmitrij, called "Gorelij" (Gorelij means The Burned/Scorched)
Character sheet: link

Quote:

Vasilijs background, how he would tell it to the princess at least. I will expand on it as we go

"Now, my dear little one, don't you be afraid" the old man in strange clothing smiled to the young princes. He was indeed a peculiar sight. A high black fur hat with a red top that hangs down to his shoulders, and he is clad in a wide and well used red and gold embroided padded jacket with fur lining that the locals calls a tegilyai which smells heavily of sulphur, charcoal and metal. In his wide sash hangs two pistols and a shashka is placed on his left side with it's handle, and thus it's edge pointing backwards, not forwards, as for a sable. On his back, however hangs a sable, and on his right side an ornamented straight dagger.
He takes of his fur hat, revealing that his long white moustache is complimented with an equally long single lock of hair on the top of his head"My princess, I have the honor to be one of those to escort you. My name is Vasilij, son of Dmitrij, but most call me grandpa Vasia or grandpa Gorelij." he squats down before her chair and the menacing figure of a fierce raider turns into a kind grandfather:"I understand... It's hard to go from your home to a foreign country to marry a stranger, and the situation is making it even worse, but don't worry, as we say: he who is destined be hanged will not drown. And I will look after you, if you want. I have been around for long, and all has been well with me. Me and the tzar go back a long time" he smiles as he starts telling:"When the tzars father, Vasilij died, I was one of the gunners that protected the castle when the bojars wanted to imprison him. Now, he was all to young to remember me from that time, but I attended his coronation some ten years later and when we won his first war, I was given command in his newly created gunners..." he sighs"Not to say that tzar Ivan is easy to deal with, far from it. He suspected me for treason, and me and some of the gunners had to escape to the south, where we gathered a band of men that was wanted by the crown. We offered protection to the southern villages from bandits and raiders, and they fed and clothed us for that. I even married, but she was taken by the sickness only three years later. And then there was a new war. We joined in as the attackers came to the area we already protected, and the tzar gave us his royal pardon. Even offered us places in his bodyguard, but that's not for me. Still, I was made a noble and the tzar thus has the right to command me out on missions.
Believe me, my dear, to escort you will be by far the most enjoyable. So don't be afraid....

Reaction on the summoning
Going to the kings residence, which was more a monastery than a palace, was never pleasant since the tzars mother was killed there and Vasilij was one of the guards that had to protect the young princeling, but he still had to go.
The tzar summoned him, and it was his duty to obey.
Now, the tzar knew that Vasilij always spoke his mind, and the tzar did tolerate it more from the commoners than from those he saw could be conspiring, but being made noble by the tzar meant that he would all to easily be cast together with all the others the tzar distrusted, so walking up the stairs to the audience hall felt like going up the stairs to the gallows, especially having been sent there once by the tzar already.
As he enters, he bows a deep bow, his right hand touching the ground:"Father of us all*, tzar Ivan, I have arrived by your command. What is your bidding?"

___________________________
* - Father of us all is my translation of "batiushka tzar' " which was the peasant way of referencing to the tzar, giving him and additional, patriarchal honorific

Grigor Didkovich was born in a small peasant village in a southern region of Blood Hand Ivan's empire. The region had only been conquered a few years prior to his birth, but it had regained a great deal of stability by the spring when Grigor was born.

The boy's birth was marked by omens of the usual sort: a two-headed calf was born in the village; dead snakes were found upon Mother Firebird's altar and spiders infested the Grey Wolf's lair; falling stars lit up the night; strange dreams were had; geese flew west instead of north; and so on. Of course the village could not keep such a boy, and so they sent him off to local ascetic monastery devoted to the fire aspect of Mother Firebird. There he learned to sacrifice his passions and needs upon the flame, trading bits of mind and self in return for power.

Despite his ability to sacrifice his needs in return for greater things, he found himself unable to maintain the perfect austerity required among the fire clerics. As a teenager, he began browsing through forbidden tomes found deep within the monastery's library, books deemed to dangerous to even destroy. There he found even more things, ways to gain without the strict forms required by formal worship and magic.

Before his explorations could be discovered by the abbot, Grigor left. He wandered the countryside, looking for more lore and quickly gaining a reputation as a healer, a priest, a man capable soothing madness, exorcizing demons, and ending feuds that ravaged generations.

But despite his provincial successes, Grigor needed more. He needed success, recognition, authority. And so, perhaps manifesting his own form of the madness so common in the snow covered land, he made his way to the capital of Blood Hand himself. He hoped to gain the confidence of the nobles and generals who wait there, and he has claimed that he could be invaluable in dealing with the prince immured in the keep. So far, he hasn't been there long enough to truly gain the trust of any magistrates or ministers, but he has certainly gained the respect and fear of the common folk and soldiery there.

Grigor is gregarious and soft spoken. He carries no weapons, and does his best to talk himself out of conflicts. Of course, those who really pursue him tend to suffer unexplained illness and all sorts of unpredictable maladies.

Despite his ascetic carriage, Grigor is a hedonist at heart. He loves comfortable rooms, lush furs, rich food, and the shine of gold and jewels. Promise of payment and reward will almost always motivate him (although he has never been above an old-fashioned double-cross).

Tatyiana is very much an absorbed young woman, utterly caught up in her research and study of magic, leaving the more mundane cares of the world to others. She is unaware of any beauty she might hold n others eyes; although she does try her best to maintain herself as expected of a lady.

Given her specific study, it is no surprise that Tatyiana tends to lose her temper on occasion, as stupid and close-minded people irk her to no end and she usually ends up lighting their heels up to chase them away. She is not sure enough of herself to verbally berate others; this is when her magic talent comes into play.

This wizardess is good-natured and obedient, easily bowing to authority in her family as well as those in power. It has never occurred to her to use her arcane power to gain secular power; although that is something that may change in the fullness of time. This is mostly to the teachings she has received about Mother Firebird and the Grey Wolf. While she honors the former more, she also regards the wisdom and duty of the latter, knowing the ability to stand and face the horrors of the dark and cold is not in her and revering one who does.

Background

Tatyiana, and her brother Koschei were born during the Winter Solstice, coming into a world cold and dark. Even though they were not similar in appearance, the twins were quite close. Tatyiana was filled with an inner fire that kept her dancing around like a flickering flame, whereas her brother was solemn and cool, eying the world through calculating eyes.

Being born under such a auspicious sign, both we taken to the Church and given to the Goddesses. This ceremony only serves to distinguish the differences between the twins, as Tatyiana's hair seemed to take on a deeper red luster from that point on and Koschei's skin never really tanned since that time.

The Pietrov family was an influential one, being involved heavily in martial pursuits such as providing security forces and contributing to the armed forces of their country. While they were not highborn, they were well known and regarded as staunch allies.

Given the nature of the family, both twins were expected to learn the craft of warfare, so as not to be found lacking when they matured. While Tatyiana accepted the lessons with a good nature, Koschei fairly devoured the concepts, quickly becoming one of the prominent soldiers of the family. This was also when it was discovered that Tatyiana had some talent for Geomancy and so was tested. The family had never had a practitioner of magic in their ranks and Father Pietrov could only imagine what providence this new facet would bring to them.

Tatyiana not only came to be highly regarded as a Geomancer; but the priestesses of Mother Firebird showed her favor as well, as she exemplified many of the qualities of that Goddess. To the girl's relief, she had become too valuable a commodity to waste away on a marriage meant to secure some minor alliance. It seemed her life was meant to be her own.

As always, the paths we chose do not always wind as we plan, and so it was with Tatyiana as she reached her twenty-third year and the cruel Tzar seemed to take notice of her.

Whereas the young woman was filled with fear at the prospect of the ruler regarding her, her father could not be more eager to please. Vladimir Pietrov was a prominent merchant and delegate to the Zemsky Sobor, he had high ideals of their family finally rising into the ranks which he felt they were deserved and gaining the favor of the Tzar was one way to reach those heights. His wizard daughter would do her duty, no matter what it was the Tzar demanded of her.

"How dare you rebuke me, ungrateful girl!", a deep voice bellowed out from inside a closed chamber, causing the serfs to shrink away in dismay and fear.

Inside the chamber, a pretty young woman with flaming red hair knelt in tears before the towering figure of the manor's lord. Vladimir Pietrov was a large, hulking man, much if his younger strength having gone to fat; which hardly made the man less a danger to those who crossed him. The girl at his feet could be easily crushed if he deemed it necessary.

"We have sacrificed much for you, child, with your education and strange pursuits, and now it is time for you to repay that debt. Blood-handed Ivan himself has called for you and you will provide him with every service he requires. You will bring glory and favor to your family with every device at your disposal.", he continued, his brow furrowing as he glared down at his daughter.

"But Father, I am terrified of him. You know the things it is said he does to those who displease him. Why can't I just be left to my studies?!", the girl cried back, her head lifting to reveal streaks of tears running down her lightly freckled cheeks and red lips. Blue eyes beseeched him to reconsider the command, even as her dainty hands closed in fists of impotent fear.

"Nonsense! You too will serve, as we have. He must have found some worth in you to have called for you and you shall not disappoint. Even if you are sent back carrying his bastard child, you will do so agreeably and without complaint. Too long we have been in the shadow of the highborns and by Mother Church, you will do anything required of you to remedy this.", the furious man countered before forcing his ire down, replacing it with an icy calm that many had learned was worse than the anger.

"You will serve our Tzar, Tatyiana or it will be the end of you. Your brother has taken his place and you shall take yours. Any displeasure you bring to Him will be......most unfortunate for you should anything be left of you to return to us.", he assured her before bending down to lift her to her feet.

"Now, go. Your mother is arranging to have you suitably attired and groomed so as to not completely embarrass us. Carry yourself with pride and remember who it is you represent, daughter.", he concluded, turning from her in a silent dismissal.